


It's Never Too Late

by WindInTheWeirwoods



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Jon Snow is Not a Targaryen, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 14:31:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18994501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindInTheWeirwoods/pseuds/WindInTheWeirwoods
Summary: Sansa Stark is an event planner with a rising star, and her newest challenge is organizing the wedding for her celebrity friend Margaery Tyrell. Margaery wants a picturesque venue, and Sansa's found the perfect one. But the groundskeeper is none other than her former foster brother Jon Snow, who she hasn't seen in a decade.





	1. Sansa I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa visits a venue for her best friend's wedding.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the rights to "A Song of Ice and Fire" or "Game of Thrones," full credit to George R.R. Martin.

Sansa Stark thanked the barista, dropping two dollars in the tip jar and taking her tea from the counter. She turned and fumbled for her sunglasses; the cup and her car keys were in one hand, a small paper bag containing her breakfast in the other. She briefly caught sight of herself in the reflection in the glass door – a tall woman with copper-red hair in plain black flats, denim jacket paired with matching jeans and an olive-green shirt. She normally dressed more formally for work, but meeting a client in the field gave her an excuse to wear something more casual. Sansa opened the door and held it for two older women stepping inside, nodded in reply to their thanks, and stepped outside into the sunlight.

She paused, adjusting her sunglasses, then walked quickly down the sidewalk to her car. Somehow she managed to sip her coffee and draw her phone from its place in her pocket.

“Estate appointment,” beamed a notification. The meeting was less than an hour away, but she didn’t have to travel far. The address was already plugged into her phone, and she was right on schedule.

Sansa silently reminded herself to thank Jeyne later. Her assistant had finally convinced her to stop keeping a handwritten day planner, instead relying on apps inside her phone to keep herself organized. And it certainly helped. As the city’s foremost event planner, she kept a busy schedule.

Corporate meetings, non-profit dinners, charity marathons, and everything in-between. Sansa and her small circle of friends-turned-employees managed it all. But nothing had challenged her as badly as the upcoming Tyrell-Baratheon wedding.

It wasn’t that Margaery Tyrell was a demanding bride. Maybe the personal stake was what raised the pressure. Sansa and Margaery had been college roommates, longtime friends, and brunched on the first Sunday of each month. Sansa had been so thankful when Margaery had approached her.

“There’s no one I’d rather plan my wedding,” Margaery had chimed, beckoning for a refill of her mimosa. “Truly. I’ve seen your results firsthand, I know you’ll do a wonderful job. And it’s such a big opportunity, I’d love to give you exposure.”

The comment would have bordered on offensive from anyone else, but Sansa knew Margaery was being honest. Her friend was a social media influencer, attracting millions of followers with a kind word or advertisement. Inheriting a hotel empire had its perks.

If Sansa pulled this off, the possibilities were endless. Margaery was remarkably well-connected and her favor would open doors all across the country.

So it had to be perfect. It’s why Sansa was doing all she could to check items off the list Margaery had plotted out with her.

It’s why Sansa was parking her car at an old estate far outside the city limits. She finished the last of her lemon macarons, removed her key from the ignition, and stepped out to survey the grounds.

The castle-like home was built with red brick and teeming with ivy. Ancient oak trees towered above it and waist-high hedges lined a paved path behind the wrought-iron gates. Manicured lawns extended as far as she could see. The grounds looked like something from a historical drama, and for good reason: they were a popular filming location for everything from gothic horror shows to period romances. It’s what Margaery wanted, and it’s what she would get. Sansa was grateful for the budget her family had allotted.

Sansa walked down the path, eyes scanning the property before her. There was ample room for what they needed – open space against a stone wall for the caterers and their tents, shaded room beneath a tall tree for the guests to be seated. She was compiling a list of questions to ask the groundskeeper when she realized they weren’t to be found.

She checked her phone to confirm the time, only to realize she was ten minutes early. So it was excusable. A buzzing in the air alerted her, and after a moment she realized it was a lawnmower. That must be her groundskeeper.

The path tracked around the house in a sweeping arc. Sansa followed it, taking her time and idly imagining lights strung overhead and within the hedges. That would require extension cables and power outlets – she’d have to ask about them. It was just one of the many questions she’d prepared for the meeting when she finally caught sight of him.

The groundskeeper had turned off his riding mower and dismounted. His dark hair was tied back in a tight bun, but his curls were fighting against the restraint. He wore a thin, black shirt over his khakis. He’d tied a gray bandana to cover his face but lowered it upon noticing her.

He stalked over, checking his wristwatch and scratching his neck, the bandana tucked away in a back pocket. An odd expression passed over his face.

“Sansa,” he breathed in surprise. His gray eyes met hers in disbelief.

It clicked. “Jon!” she said, feeling embarrassed for not recognizing him sooner.

Her parents had taken in Jon Snow a year or two before Sansa was born, when he was still a toddler. They’d fostered him and raised him alongside Sansa and her siblings, right until her father suddenly died. She’d just turned fourteen.

It had been too much for Sansa’s mother to raise all the children alone. Sansa stayed behind to mind her two little brothers, but her older brother Robb went off to a military academy. Her younger sister, Arya, had convinced their mother to send her to a boarding school. And Jon had quietly moved in with their uncle Benjen and his wife.

It had only been a decade since they’d seen each other last, but it felt like a lifetime. She suddenly realized Jon was staring at her, waiting for a response to some question she hadn’t acknowledged.

“I’m sorry, I blanked out,” she apologized quickly. “How did you end up here? Did you know who I was?”

“Um, I guessed as much,” Jon replied, slowly. “From your email. Let’s step in my office, get out of this heat.”

Sansa followed him down the path, thoughts racing. She’d rarely thought of her “other” brother in the years since they last met, and she suddenly felt guilty for it. Her thoughts were always with Robb, now an officer in the army. Or, grudgingly, with Arya. Wherever she was. She’d rarely thought of Jon.

She suspected she knew why. Her mother had always discouraged any strong bond between them. It was fine for Jon to brawl with Robb or chase Bran and Rickon around the yard. He was even able to escort Arya on her bike rides around the neighborhood. But any time Sansa and Jon found themselves alone, her mother was quick to swoop in with some chore for one of them or an excuse to put them apart. Sansa had never considered asking why.

They made it to his office, which turned out to be an old brick cabin at the edge of the property. It squatted beneath a tall willow tree, light from a shallow pond reflecting on its windows. Jon opened the door and she followed into the welcoming air conditioning. Inside, she saw that it was divided into living and working areas; one hallway to her right offered a glimpse of a couch and, beyond, a small kitchen. To their left was a small office blanketed with loose papers, binders, and pens. A pair of worn canvas gloves hung on the wall, next to a raincoat, a thick flannel jacket, and a small leather messenger bag.

Jon carefully moved behind his desk, skirting a pile of what looked like machine manuals and phonebooks. She heard the distinctive sound of a refrigerator door opening from somewhere out of sight, and he produced a cool bottle of water. Sansa politely declined it and took her seat.

She watched as he removed the lid in one smooth motion, drank, and sent his fingers dancing across his computer’s keyboard. Then he turned to address her.

“I was surprised to get your message. Robb had told me you were doing well for yourself, but I didn’t know you were in town.”

Of course Robb had been talking to him. And of course he hadn’t said anything of Jon living in the same city as her. A part of her was thankful that someone from Jon’s old family was keeping in touch.

“Thought you’d be off traveling like Arya,” he laughed. “Her last card came in from Venice. Guess she’s enjoying herself.”

That figured.

Sansa tapped her fingers against her handbag, an old nervous tick. Why was she nervous?

“There’s so much opportunity here,” she found herself saying. “My friends live here, and it’s been nice staying close to home.”

Oh, that was tactless. She knew it before the dark, sad look flashed across Jon’s face.

Quick to defuse, she continued before he could respond. “It’s a fun city. I’m glad you’ve found something, too.”

Jon chuckled. “It’s something,” he admitted. “Uncle Benjen knew an appraiser who knew the estate manager, who needed a new groundskeeper. It’s honest work. Not exciting, but it’s peaceful.”

Sansa rapidly connected the dots. Benjen was her father’s younger brother; he and his wife Ashara lived inside the city, where he worked at the municipal museum and she at the botanical gardens. They must have taken in Jon when he’d left all those years ago, to spare the teenager from joining another new family.

“I’m happy for you,” Sansa replied, and she was surprised by how much she meant it. Jon hadn’t deserved all the hardship he’d lived. It was wonderful that he’d found a supportive family and a fulfilling job.

“Well,” she continued, awkwardly. She turned the conversation back to something professional. “As I said in my email, we’re interested in hosting a wedding on the grounds here. I’ve already cleared everything with the manager, we just need to go over some logistics. I have a few questions for you?”

Jon nodded pleasantly, and she felt the stone on her chest lessen.

They moved forwards without incident. Jon explained a few things she’d found curious of the property, filled her in on the history of the estate, and even offered two or three good suggestions. There was a lighted parking lot behind the house where valet service could leave the guest vehicles; that was reassuring. Sansa made a quick note on her phone to see if Mya had an availability.

“It all sounds great, you’ve been a big help,” Sansa said, gathering her things and standing to leave. And she was surprised again by how genuine it felt to say that.

Jon scratched his nose and stood, looking away from her. He almost looked sheepish. “Any time. We’ve gotten a lot of requests lately, so I had an idea of what you’d be asking.” He swallowed, eyes still averted. “It was nice seeing you.”

Sansa clutched her handbag, feeling strange. Not uncomfortable, just off-balance. She smiled thinly and took her leave, pausing at the door. “Thank you, again. Be seeing you.”

The walk back to her car felt lonely. She could see over the hedges easily enough, and the sky was clear of clouds. But making the trek without Jon at her side seemed to take longer than it should.

Once she was behind the wheel, Sansa took a moment to scroll through her messages. Jeyne was busy in the office, she knew, preparing boxes of outdated documents for shredding. Mya could wait. She had half a mind to send a message to Robb but didn’t know if he was busy; at least he wasn’t deployed. So she texted Margaery, asking if she could call.

Margaery made the first move. “Sansa,” she shouted into the phone, obviously set to speaker, “how was the property? I loved what I’ve seen online, but do you think it will work?” Two of her brothers were bickering in the background.

Sansa cleared her throat. “It’s perfect, I think it has everything we’re looking for. Could we speak privately?”

A few seconds of silence were broken by Margaery’s voice, now more full in Sansa’s ear. “Sorry about that, I was above deck. What’s up?”

“I met with the groundskeeper, and I knew him. I used to know him.”

She could picture Margaery’s mischievous grin. “You met a guy and secured our venue? That’s a productive day.”

“No, no,” Sansa said, “I used to know him. He was our foster brother, growing up. I haven’t seen him since… middle school?”

“Gotcha,” Margaery replied. “Well, it’s always nice to catch up, remember where you’ve come from. But why does it sound like that bothered you?”

Sansa was slow to answer. She inhaled, steadying her voice. “I wasn’t close to him. I don’t know what I thought he’d look like at our age, but not this. Not working as a groundskeeper.”

“There’s no shame in gardening,” Margaery said seriously. “My family were farmers for years, until my grandmother opened her first hotel. You shouldn’t judge him for it.”

“I’m not!” Sansa shot back, feeling heated. “I don’t pity him or anything. He seems content. It’s just… I feel guilty, for not treating him better when we were young. For not having that relationship.”

“Are your other siblings close to him?”

“Robb and Arya are, I know.”

“Well speak with them and see what they think, if they know what he thinks of you. And maybe reach out to him and apologize, if you think it’ll help. Just don’t do anything to jeopardize our venue,” she laughed.

Sansa bit her tongue. Margaery knew she’d do nothing unprofessional; they each knew how important this was.

Her friend wasn’t finished. “A friend of a friend knows a D.J. who’s looking to do more weddings. I’ll send you his number, his name’s Marillion if you want to look him up.”

“Sure thing, send it over,” Sansa said absentmindedly, looking out the window. “And thanks for the chat.”

“No problem,” Margaery answered warmly, before ending the call. “Love you!”

Restless, Sansa opened a music app and picked something moody. Then she set her phone down and shifted gears, moving back onto the road towards town. She still had several appointments ahead of her, but at least the commute back to her office would give her time to think it all over.

/ / /

And we’re off and running. I’ve got this thing plotted out, hopefully I’ll see it through and it’ll be a satisfying read. Thanks for taking the time to check it out.


	2. Jon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon reflects on his reunion with Sansa.

Jon drummed his fingers on the steel table and tried to focus on his book. It was a story Sam had recommended – a retelling of _Beowulf_ , from the monster Grendel’s perspective. It was engaging enough, and he’d been pleasantly surprised to receive something more entertaining than the biographies and histories his friend normally pressed on him.

But he just couldn’t keep focus. Jon rubbed his eyes and finished his cup of coffee, giving him an excuse to walk around and stretch his legs. He sulked into the small firehouse kitchen and refilled it, then stood by a window and surveyed the cityscape.

He enjoyed the skyline on a clear night. Tracing constellations between the far-off stars and city lights was, normally, enough to while away the slow hours. The haze from newly-upgraded streetlights obscured those distant points of light this time, however.

Frustrated, Jon turned and stalked upstairs, to the third level. Maybe he’d have a better view from up there. The lights had to be on some sort of timer.

He found Pyp and Grenn on the top level, tinkering with an old radio. They were volunteers, like him. Edd was the only full-time firefighter on the shift, and he was down on the bottom floor inspecting the truck.

Jon found the view from the top floor equally disappointing. Out of options, he drew his phone and opened his email.

His correspondence with Sansa had been brief. Too brief. Except for weekly outings with Sam and Gilly and spontaneous stops at Tormund’s dive bar, he didn’t meet with many people outside of work.

And Sansa had been very clearly professional, outside their awkward meeting in person. Still, he’d enjoyed speaking with her. He hadn’t meant to guilt her into not connecting with him sooner – they’d never been close, especially before he’d moved out. Lacking for other talking-points, he’d brought up her siblings. In hindsight, not his best move.

She had a mobile number listed in the signature on her email, along with her office line and links to her business’s social media profiles. He wanted to reach out to her and maybe see her again, but part of his mind was loudly shouting that was a bad idea. The last thing a young woman wanted was some man she’d met at work tracking her down in the middle of the night.

It didn’t matter that they’d once been something like siblings. He’d recognized the distance between them at an early age. When he, Sansa, and Robb were toddlers playing in the yard her mother would swoop in and bring her inside. If she were reading in the kitchen, he’d be sent to do homework in another room. Even on Halloween, her mother took the girls and her father led the boys on different circuits around the neighborhood. They never really shared a space together. He remembered less of Sansa than he did her mother Catelyn, and that knowledge had amounted to "stay out of her way."

So why was Sansa still on his mind, three days after they’d last met?

“Hair’s getting close to regulation, Jon,” joked Pyp. Grenn muttered something and Pyp fumbled in the toolbox, in search of something.

“I know,” Jon replied, absentmindedly scrolling on his phone. “Bowen already threatened to cut it himself. I’ll get a handle on it.”

He could hear the grin in Pyp’s voice. “Might be that’s your problem, always frowning all the time. You haven’t a girl to use that cute little bun for a handle.”

“You’ve got the teat-ticklers, too,” chimed in Grenn. “Such a waste.”

Jon’s ears reddened and he descended the stairs. One of them shouted a half-hearted apology behind him but he wasn’t hearing it. He wasn’t in the mood. He continued stomping downwards, hand on the guiderail, until he found the ground floor.

Edd was pacing around the firetruck, methodically checking items off a list on his clipboard. He caught Jon from the corner of his eye and nodded. “No orphanages burning tonight,” said Edd.

Jon grit his teeth, still fuming. Edd continued, “No cats in no trees, neither. Nobody’s fallen and broken a hip. Just a quiet night on the watch.”

“I’ll take it,” Jon grumbled, sipping his coffee.

Edd looked over at him directly. “What’s got you steeping?”

“Just,” Jon began, thinking. “Just boys being boys.”

“They’re good lads,” Edd chided gently, “just not all-there up top. Might be they grow out of it. My father’s brother’s son didn’t, but might be they will.”

It wasn’t that Jon wasn’t used to that talk. He simply didn’t approve of it. He hadn’t liked it in the army, and he didn’t like it now. He exhaled and stepped around the other side of the truck, looking at his reflection in the polished bumper.

He’d spent hours shining it, readying the truck for an appearance at a local school. He thought how it was perfectly eye-level for the schoolchildren, and he could already picture them making faces in the mirror and smudging it with their fingers.

He didn’t see any children in it now. Just a short man with a long face in a volunteer firefighter’s uniform: navy-blue shirt, light brown slacks, and black workboots with a matching belt. At least his hair wasn’t fighting its bounds today. He’d have to get it trimmed soon.

Jon had thought of growing it out as an act of minor rebellion, or a small personal freedom. He’d done his four years in the army after high school, where his hair had been buzzed down to his scalp. Uncle Benjen hadn’t exactly pushed him down that path, but Jon was grateful for the man’s influence all the same. He and Aunt Ashara had been good to him when he’d come into their lives, a sullen sixteen-year old who’d left his family, expelled softly but sent away all the same.

“You need a livelihood, Jon,” Benjen had agreed, when Jon had broached the subject. “If not the military than a trade school. Or we can help send you to college, if that’s what you want. You’ve got the grades to pass any entrance exam. There’s scholarships available.”

But Jon wanted to join the army, following in the footsteps of his almost-father Ned. He fancied joining the same unit as Robb someday, taking the battlefield together, even if his nearly-brother was an officer, not an enlisted man. Of course Jon’s military experience hadn’t been what he envisioned. It had been mostly boring work, tasked with sorting touchpads and aligning satellites. He’d never even been deployed overseas, spending most of his tour in the frozen northern provinces patrolling tundra.

It’s where he’d met Sam. His friend had been eager to get away from the sweltering southern reaches (and his always-disapproving father), but a four-year stint in the snowbound north had sent them both seeking someplace warmer. So they’d settled on this quiet city by the sea, just a few hours by train from Jon’s hometown and comfortably far away from Sam’s.

They’d been roommates for a while, until Sam met Gilly and they made plans to move in together. She had a young son and the small apartment he and Sam shared was too cramped for everyone. So Jon had offered to let them keep the place while he went looking. It was close to the library where Sam worked and near some good schools.

Uncle Benjen had come through again, then. His old friend Aemon, an antiques appraiser and historian, had an opening after the estate’s longtime groundskeeper filed for retirement. Jeor had been an old bear of a man, much taller than Jon, and wanted to spend his last years on an island off the coast with his grandchildren.

One thing led to another, and Jon was hired for the job. Three years later, Sansa emailed him. And a few days after that, he was rereading their correspondence.

His phone dinged – a message from Arya. She usually sent postcards from wherever she was visiting (Venice was the most recent, but he also had cards from Bruges, Brussels, Lyons, and Barcelona on the fridge at home), but she wasn’t above simply texting if their time zones lined up.

And as always, his little sister was direct. “Sansa’s asking about you,” the message read. “She says she ran into you, and she’s worried she upset you?”

Jon’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Not upset. Surprised is all. Pleasantly.”

There was a lull until Arya responded, so Jon left Edd in the garage and climbed the stairs back to the second floor. His phone vibrated again. “Pleasantly? She was horrid to you.” Before he could respond, she sent another message. “Growing up. She said she was just tactless at your meeting.”

Jon mulled that over before answering, taking his seat again at the table. It wasn’t Sansa’s fault that her mother had been too protective, or too restrictive. She hadn’t asked to keep him at arm’s reach. Had she?

He sighed and typed slowly, deliberately, “Well I’d like to give her some peace of mind. How can I do that?”

It took a few minutes for Arya to reply, so he picked up his book again. When her message came through, it read, “I don’t know, ask her to coffee? I wasn’t close to her either.”

Jon swallowed. Coffee could mean anything; anything from a work meeting to a date. What if he sent the wrong message?

“She said she’d email me again after talking to her client,” Jon typed carefully. “I’ll ask her then.”

Nearly ten minutes passed before Arya’s terse reply arrived. “Good, just don’t put it off. She’s been through enough lately.”

That piqued Jon’s interest, enough to start asking about what she meant. But he reconsidered after noting the delay between their messages – she must be busy.

Then the alarm bell rang through the building. He could hear Pyp and Grenn shouting upstairs as Jon leapt from the chair, Arya’s cryptic message forgotten.

He made his way down to the garage to find Edd frowning in the cab of the truck. Jon buckled into the passenger’s seat and looked to the full-timer for explanation.

“Old man fell off his loo and can’t get up,” Edd answered dryly. “We’re off to save the day until paramedics arrive.”

Jon suppressed a snort as Grenn and Pyp filed in behind them, Edd passing along a variant of the same phrase. The truck lurched out onto the street and took off, emergency lights flashing in the dark.

/ / /

Hey, we’ve got some backstory filled out. The city we’re in is purposefully vague, I don’t want to call it Boston or Newark or New York but it’s somewhere in that zone. Somewhere with a cool blend of sparkling skyscrapers and hundreds-of-years-old brick homes, on a coldwater ocean. We’re also starting to get into some of the baggage and personal history (and lack of personal history) between members of the cast. Fun times!


	3. Sansa II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa makes the first move. Catelyn makes herself heard.

A month had passed and Sansa was finally starting to relax. She’d made all the arrangements to carry out the wedding, and taken on a temp hire named Beth Cassel to help with day-to-day duties. Beth was about Arya’s age, and worked well with Jeyne. They were off buying string lights, extension cords, and outdoors fans, leaving Sansa alone in the office filing invoices.

She’d just settled down for a break and was ready to order lunch when she received an email from Jon. He’d been invaluable, sending over a map with every power outlet and lighting fixture highlighted. She hadn’t had time to visit him again on the grounds but he was making every effort to accommodate her.

His latest message was brief, asking about how many vehicles they should plan for. Sansa’s friend Mya owned a valet service, and they often worked together when one of Sansa’s events needed it. It was a good arrangement; Mya’s drivers were always mindful with their customer’s vehicles, and she charged an affordable rate. Sansa suspected she was given a discount due to their frequent partnerships.

She checked the guest list again, names of those who had already confirmed their attendance highlighted in green and those who had declined in orange. A large group of invitees who Margaery expected to accept were in cyan blue. Sansa did a little math and typed up the number in her reply to Jon.

Suddenly feeling bold, she asked for his mobile line. It made sense to simply text this sort of information; there was nothing formal in it, certainly nothing warranting a full email.

But it gave her a thrill. Sansa hadn’t asked a guy for his phone number in months, not since before she and Harry had gotten together. Burying those ugly memories deep, she sent the message before she could second-guess herself and started rifling through takeout menus.

She called a nearby Vietnamese place and ordered a sandwich and bag of chips, then waited for it to be delivered. Jeyne had texted her, saying that they were stopping for lunch between pickups. They’d added a big box of solar lights in case there was any trouble with the hookups on-site, which Sansa commended her for.

Ten more minutes crawled by until Jon responded. Sansa had just returned to her desk with the takeout bag when his message flashed across her laptop screen: “Sounds good. Sure thing. Here’s my number,” it read, with the digits added neatly at the end.

Smiling, she punched it into her phone and sent him a quick text to let him know she had it.

Arya had been surprisingly helpful. They’d had a rough relationship growing up, never really connecting and at times even being combative with one another. But distance had worked well to mend that broken fence, with Arya away at boarding school and Sansa at home helping their mother with the younger children. They were still separated, but at least they were something close to conversational now.

Her little sister had been initially bewildered – what do you mean you didn’t know Jon lived nearby, he’s been there for years – but she understood Sansa’s problem, or at least said she did. And she’d done Sansa a big favor by asking Jon how he’d felt about their little reunion, which was helpful. Robb hadn’t returned her message, which wasn’t shocking. He was always busy.

So, Jon obviously didn’t hate her, or resent her. He’d seemed happy to see her. Maybe they should meet again?

She looked away from her banh mi to see that he’d texted back. He’d sent an affirmative, with a short question, asking if wedding preparations were going well.

Sansa set the sandwich down and replied, “Good so far. We’ve nearly got all the supplies we need, except what catering’s bringing.”

“Good going,” Jon said. “Some college kids were in here last, they weren’t prepared at all for the logistics. You hate to see it haha.”

She smiled, placing the phone on her desk and resuming her sandwich. Jon seemed chattier than he’d been in their emails – the change to texting had been a good call. Typing with one hand, she asked how his day was going.

“Taking a break right now,” he answered, “been pulling weeds in the north garden all morning.”

Sansa remembered Margaery explaining that north-facing windows were best for most plants – they received the most sunlight year-round. Obviously that held true for outdoors gardens, too.

“I’m sure you’ve done a nice job,” she typed.

She could almost picture his bashful expression. “Thanks, I’m just following orders.”

They talked for a while after that, while Sansa finished her lunch. Jon explained how he’d gotten the job at the estate. She was surprised to learn that he’d become a volunteer with the fire department, mostly working night shifts.

She related how she’d gone to study at university near the capitol after high school, graduating ahead of schedule and using her business management degree to open up shop as an event planner. He was impressed by her quick success.

He had to get back to work soon, saying something about a clog in the sprinkler system and how he’d text her later. Sansa smiled as she bid him good luck, putting her phone away and turning back to her computer.

Jeyne and Beth returned an hour later, arms full of bags and boxes.

“We had to make an extra stop for more extension cords,” Jeyne said, dropping one bag near Sansa’s desk. “The first store was sold out, and I wanted to make sure we had enough.” Beth followed her lead and set to unpacking the supplies.

Sansa nodded, still grinning. “That’s great, thanks. How was lunch?”

Jeyne’s back straightened. “It was great, we stopped at a Greek place Beth recommended. Would you like me to run and get you something?”

“No, no,” Sansa interjected, “I handled it, but thank you. Did you use the company card like I said?”

Jeyne nodded, withdrawing it and several folded receipts bound together from her wallet. “Sure did. There’s another bag in the car, I’ll step out and grab it. Beth knows where everything goes.”

Beth worked quietly, though Sansa asked her to stack the spare light bulbs separately; she wanted to double-check the wattage on them. They’d accidentally bought the wrong kind for a corporate dinner the year prior, and nearly had to dine in the dark because of it. It wasn’t a mistake Sansa was eager to repeat.

The rest of the day passed quickly. Sansa finished her filing, while Beth and Jeyne organized the supplies and confirmed each box of bulbs matched their fixtures. Satisfied with their progress, Sansa sent them home an hour early and left for her spin class.

It was challenging, which she appreciated. The instructor kept a warm workout room with too-loud music, but Sansa was pleased with the results. She’d found herself spending too many hours behind a desk and enjoyed the time she put in to stay in shape.

Afterwards, on the drive home, she found herself thinking of Harry again. He wasn’t a villain – not like the monsters she’d dated in high school – but he had been a jerk, which was enough. And in the end he’d hurt her worse than any of them, cheating on her with at least two other women that she knew of. It had taken her months to recover her confidence from that, but Sansa knew she was in a better place now.

She had a great job, surrounded by people she liked. And she was living in a fun city where she could go and do whatever she liked, far away from Harry’s controlling words and beady blue eyes. And she had a nice apartment in a quiet neighborhood.

The downside to that quiet neighborhood was the half-hour drive it took to reach it from her office. She sat in line at the drive-through lane in a smoothie spot, looking through her contacts. Jon hadn’t texted her again. She didn’t have anything new to tell Jeyne. On a whim, she dialed Mya’s number, but the line was busy. So she decided to call her mother instead.

“Good evening, dear” Catelyn answered. “How was your day?”

Sansa could hear the squeaking of tires and the shouts of teenagers in the background; her mother must have been at Bran’s wheelchair basketball practice.

“I’m doing great mom, we made a lot of progress for Margaery’s wedding,” she replied. Sansa wasn’t sure how her mother had done it, raising all of the children after her father passed. It wasn’t enough to have a full house. Half of them were moody teenagers, the rest children that didn’t completely understand what was happening. It had taken all Catelyn and Sansa could manage to see them through it, once Robb, Jon, and Arya had left. “How are you?”

Catelyn sighed in relief. “Sitting still now, thankfully. Bran’s getting starter’s minutes and swears he has to be at practice even earlier, so I had to warm up with him before practice. Can you believe he’s a senior already?”

“That’s insane,” Sansa breathed into her phone. “Sometimes it feels like I still am.”

Catelyn laughed gently. “You’re well past that my love. I’m so proud of what you’ve accomplished. I know I say that often but I want you to know it.”

Sansa grinned thinly to herself, fingers drumming the steering wheel. “Thank you for that. It’s been challenging but I’m really proud of it, too.”

“You know,” Catelyn began, her tone shifting to something lighter. Oh no. Sansa knew where this was going. “You should consider finding a corporate position. You’d be doing the same job, but with that stability…” she trailed off.

Sansa inhaled deeply through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, just like her therapist had once taught her. “Maybe. But then I wouldn’t be my own boss. I truly enjoy that.”

“And I’m happy that you do,” Catelyn replied, words clipped short and still light as honey. “But you’ll find it easier with their support. Company health insurance is important. And you need to be thinking about your retirement, too.”

She couldn’t help herself. Sansa rolled her eyes and nearly spat into the phone, “I’m just twenty-four, I won’t be retiring for a long time yet. I’ll be alright working for myself.”

Silence stretched ominously before Catelyn responded. “I’m just giving you my advice,” she spoke carefully. “I don’t want you to bite off more than you can chew. These are things you need to consider. And while you’re already planning weddings…”

Sansa cut her off. “Thanks, mom, I’ll talk to you later. I’ve got a work call coming in. Love you,” she said with surprising fierceness, cancelling the call and tossing her phone into the passenger seat. She seethed with frustration and spent a few minutes getting her breathing in check, then grasped for her drink.

Which of those jobs would allow Sansa to leave an hour early, with plenty of time for spin class, and a convenient smoothie spot on the commute home? She was content where she was, and she took pride in that. And her mother saw being content as a problem.

“Good is the enemy of great,” Catelyn had preached, all throughout high school. She always pushed Sansa to do more. To join another after-school organization. To take another college admittance exam. To apply for another part-time job. To not overreact to Harry’s mistakes. To intern at her creepy friend’s financial planning firm. To live closer to home, where they could visit every day.

It was all too much. “This was why I left,” Sansa muttered bitterly. She loved her mother, and never doubted the love that was returned to her. But Catelyn was simply too controlling and too-often meddled in her affairs. It was best if she kept her mother at arm’s reach.

Later that night, as she readied for bed and applied a face moisturizer, she realized she’d missed a text from Jon. It was brief, as most of his messages were, and simply related that he would be free in a few days if she wanted to stop by and look over their updated plans for light fixture placements.

“That would be terrific,” Sansa typed quickly, before she could reconsider. “I’ll bring lunch.”

/ / /

Okay, we’ve made some really solid progress with this thing. I have an outline I’m working with but as I get deeper into this AU I’m enjoying the opportunity to explore some different angles and different relationships, so it’s dragging on a bit longer than intended. Which is fine. It’s fun.


End file.
